


Whenever This World is Cruel to Me

by Haydenn11



Series: Good Omens Greatest Hits [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Drunk Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluffy Angst, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, Love Confessions, M/M, One Shot, Short, Song: You're My Best Friend (Queen), Songfic, i'll stop now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:59:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28588389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haydenn11/pseuds/Haydenn11
Summary: 6. You're My Best Friend1348 ADCrowley was drunk.There was nothing inherently surprising or special about that. Crowley had been drunk on many occasions in his 5,000 years on Earth, but today he was spectacularly drunk.He had taken one step outside his door that morning, seen the bodies in the street, piles of bloated, blackened, rotting flesh, and immediately decided to forgo any demonic activity today, tomorrow, maybe for the rest of the century. Humans, he decided, had quite enough shite to be getting on with without him adding to it.He made his way instead to the nearest tavern, performing a small miracle as he went to keep his stomach from rolling at the wave putrid scents, death, shit, fear, that overwhelmed him. He collapsed at a lonely table in a corner of the bar and ordered a large jug of wine that was almost as weak as it was sour. This really was the worst century.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Greatest Hits [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069535
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	Whenever This World is Cruel to Me

**Author's Note:**

> I supposed the term songfic applies to this pretty loosely. I set out to write a one shot inspired by Queen's You're My Best Friend and we ended up in the 14th century. So there's that, I guess. The song is one that celebrates the person that is always there for you, loving you, supporting you no matter what. So I wanted to show Aziraphale being there for Crowley in a particularly low moment. My brain landed on the Black Plague. I suppose that's what happens when you double major in History and English. *shrug*
> 
> **It should be noted that there is very little historical accuracy in this fic.

[You're My Best Friend by Queen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HaZpZQG2z10&feature=youtu.be&ab_channel=QueenOfficial)

* * *

1348 AD

Crowley was drunk. 

There was nothing inherently surprising or special about that. Crowley had been drunk on many occasions in his 5,000 years on Earth, but today he was _spectacularly_ drunk. 

He had taken one step outside his door that morning, seen the bodies in the street, piles of bloated, blackened, rotting flesh, and immediately decided to forgo any demonic activity today, tomorrow, or maybe for the rest of the century. Humans, he decided, had quite enough shite to be getting on with without him adding to it. 

He made his way instead to the nearest tavern, performing a small miracle as he went to keep his stomach from rolling at the wave putrid scents, death, shit, fear, that overwhelmed him. He collapsed at a lonely table in a corner of the bar and ordered a large jug of wine that was almost as weak as it was sour. This really was the worst century. 

He had stayed there for the remainder of the day and well into the evening, drinking continuously until he was, as previously noted, spectacularly drunk. Perhaps the drunkest he had ever been. He felt like he was underwater. His limbs somehow too heavy and floating away at the same time. His vision blurred and doubled. Every sound was distant and echoey. 

Crowley kept drinking until the greasy tallow candle on his table sputtered and went out. It was then he realized that he was alone in the tavern. His jug had stayed miraculously full and the barkeepers had taken no notice of him as they closed up. Finding himself suddenly alone and in the dark was enough to rouse the notion that he should probably go home, but when he tried to act upon it, he only found himself face first in the straw strewn floor surrounded by scents of muck and mold and stale alcohol. 

Crowley was debating the merits of napping on the tavern floor when he felt a strange presence enter the room. The air felt suddenly lighter and warmer. A cozy feeling spread through Crowley’s wine-numb limbs and settled into his chest. The presence felt welcoming, homey, distinctly ethereal. The voice that accompanied it, however, was distinctly exasperated. 

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Crowley!” said Aziraphale, “You’re a mess!”

“M’not. M’ademon last I checked.” Crowley slurred into the floor. 

Aziraphale did not deign to respond and instead began helping Crowley into a vaguely upright position. Crowley, already having a loose relationship with the physics of his human corporation at the best of times, proved highly resistant to this course of action. His body seemed well and truly boneless and every time Aziraphale managed to prop him up, he slumped back over into increasingly impossible positions. 

“Really, Crowley, this is ridiculous! Sober up this instant.” 

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No.”

“Crowley!”

“I’m never sobering up again, angel. Never.” Crowley slurred. “The world is shit. All of it is shit. And I dinna like being sober in shit. It’s‒ is just shitty.”

Aziraphale sighed in an understanding sort of way and made an attempt to prop him up again. Crowley made an effort to remain slumped against the wall this time and look at Aziraphale properly. 

Angel was beautiful. All light and warm and soft. Even in the dark grime of the tavern Aziraphale seemed to glow faintly. His white golden hair formed a soft halo. His eyes seemed to shine through the darkness with half amused, half annoyed expression. 

“You’re so pretty, angel.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Oh, you are positively tippled, my dear.” 

“No, you have nipples.” Crowley retorted. 

Aziraphale didn’t respond. Still chuckling, he moved to wrap his arms around Crowley, slipping an arm underneath his knees and around his back. Before Crowley could think or respond, Aziraphle hoisted him into the air, lifting him as if he weighed nothing, holding him gently bridal style. The sudden movement and unprecedented proximity to his angel made Crowley’s head spin violently. 

“Where to, my dear?”

“Ngk?”

“I’m trying to take you home. Where are you living these days?”

“London.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes, I know. Where in London, specifically?”

“House.” grunted Crowley. 

Another sigh. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. I’ll just take you back to mine.”

Aziraphale snapped and the world lurched suddenly. When it stopped moving, they were in Aziraphale’s room, a cozy, if cluttered, space. Angel snapped again and a bed, which had certainly not existed before, miraculously fit itself in a corner of the room. Aziraphale laid Crowley on it and snapped for a third time. Crowley felt a wind ripple over his entire body and when he looked down he was in different clothes, significantly cleaner than he had been, and tucked into bed quite snuggly. Crowley stung a little at how much care and attention he was receiving.. 

“There,” Aziraphale said at last, “you can stay here and sleep it off. Maybe when you wake up, the world won’t be so shi‒ unpleasant.” 

Crowley giggled. “You almost said shit.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Good night, Crowley.”

“No, angel, stay.”

“I’ll be right here.” He indicated the chair across the room.

“No.” Crowley patted the bed next to him. “Stay.”

Aziraphale looked suddenly torn, glancing from the bed to the chair to Crowley, repeat. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said at length. 

“M’ademon. Not s’posed to have good ideas.”

“Crowley.”

“C’mon, angel, please.” Crowley beseeched. “I’m cold.”

Aziraphhale hesitated a moment longer, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. Finally he seemed to have resigned to some internal battle and laid on the bed beside Crowley, on his back, on top of the blanket, starting resolutely at the ceiling. 

“Mm. Angel.” Crowley hummed and curled himself as close to Aziraphale as the blanket between them would allow, resting his head upon the angel’s shoulder. The angel was warm, warmer than Crowley had been imagining. He felt like he could sleep here for the rest of the century, and the idea was singularly appealing. 

“Are you alright, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked after a long silence.

“M’now.”

“But you weren’t before?”

“No. S’all shit.”

“Yes, so you said,” Aziraphle murmured, “Which bits, specifically?”

“All of it.” Crowley adjusted his head so he was no longer talking directly into the angel’s shoulder. “Famine was shit. War is shit. Earthquake was shit. Stupid plauge is shit. It’s all just shit.”

“Indeed,” Azirapahle stayed silent, musing, for a long time before adding, “Still, I supposed it’s all part of the Great Plan and the Great Plan is‒” 

“If you say ‘ineffable’ I swear to Someone, I’m gonna‒”

“Well, it is, Crowley!”

“No it isn’t, angel. It’s shit,” he said brusquely, “All the shit that’s happened this century, Hell didn’t do it. Heaven didn’t do it. The humans didn’t even do it. She did. She put them and us on this planet just to fuck with us. S’all a big game and She won’t even tell us the rules. And that’s just shit, it is. It’s shit to make good people suffer for minding their own business. I’m damn tired of watching people suffer just to die. And if all this shit is part of a Great Plan, then the Great Plan is shit too!” 

The last syllable seemed to echo around the room. Crowley buzzed, his head suddenly hot, but clearer than it had been in hours. He usually refrained from criticizing God and the Great Plan in front of Aziraphale. He knew the angel clung to his faith and grace more fiercely than anything else, but Crowley couldn’t help it this time. Everything about this century so far had been so _wrong_ and so _senseless_. It was the flood all over again. Sodom and Gomorrah all over again. The nine plagues in Egypt all over again. And try as he might, Crowley could not see an acceptable reason for senseless death and destruction, and he was a demon for Someone’s sake. 

“You’re very angry with Her.” It wasn’t a question. Or an accusation. Just an observation, stated plainly and without judgement. 

Crowley nodded and they stayed silent for a long time. The empty air stretched between them and Crowley felt simultaneously closer to and further away from the angel than he had ever been. 

Aziraphale broke the silence. “It’s okay, you know. To be angry. You have a lot to be angry for.”

Crowley felt his eyes sting again. Aziraphale was the only person he knew who could do this, just be there in all the right ways. Countless times over the centuries, whenever Crowley reached his breaking point with the world and all the cruel, pointless atrocities it threw at him, Aziraphale was there. He would listen without judging, never agreeing or disagreeing, never trying to problem solve or rationalize. He just listened quietly and offered a little validation. 

“I love you, angel.” The words fell out of his mouth before he could catch them. He felt Aziraphale tense beneath him and. He tried to backpedal and failed spectacularly, “No, I just meant. You’re my best friend. The best friend I’ve ever had. All these centuries and no matter what this world gives, no matter how cruel, I can always count on you to show up and remind me to live in it anyway. You make me live, angel. You’re like‒ you’re like sunshine. You’re all warm and glowy and perfect, and I just‒ I love you. You’re my best friend.”

Aziraphale let out a breath Crowley hadn’t realized he was holding and laughed. 

“My, you really are quite drunk, you poor thing. You’re going to be miserable in the morning.”

Crowley felt the heat rising in his face at the way his declaration was being received. He grumbled, “M’not.”

“You are. But you might avoid the worst of it if you go to sleep right now.”

Crowley obliged, unable to fight the warmth and the alcohol and the shit mood any longer. He let the buzzing in his head take over, letting it drown out all the other thoughts until he felt himself drifting off. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked softly after the longest silence yet. The demon dimly registered the sound of his own name, but was too close to sleep to respond to it. Aziraphale continued in spite of that, his words came out breathless and softer than a whisper. “I love you, too.”


End file.
